Unsealed With a Kiss
by Gray Cardinal
Summary: AU, first in the Seasons of the Lotus series.  Two weeks after the Diablo affair, Yori arrives in Middleton with her eyes on Ron. Meanwhile, Senor Senior Sr. is after Kim...and the world’s supply of chocolate.
1. I Have Missed Your AmericanStyle Humor

**Unsealed With a Kiss  
_Seasons of the Lotus: Episode #1_**

**Disclaimer:** _Disney owns Kim Possible and all related characters, but no one at Disney bears any responsibility for the following story (that's all my fault). _

**Notes: **_**Seasons of the Lotus** is planned as a series of four stories, set in an entirely different continuity from the **Sitch in Slash** cycle. It's an AU, beginning (and diverging from canon) shortly after the events of **So the Drama**. __As to pairings: as might be guessed from the series title, the focus is on the Kim/Ron/Yori triangle -- but the question of how that triangle will sort itself out remains to be seen.

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_**1 • I Have Missed Your American-Style Humor**

It was only the third morning Ron Stoppable had spent by himself since the junior prom (two weeks ago now) and the end of the school year (three days before). Kim had gone shopping at Club Banana – not one of Ron's favorite pursuits – and so he had decided to spend some quality time in his treehouse. He had almost reached the top of the ladder when he heard the voice.

"Good morning, Ron-san."

"_AAAAAAAHHH!_ Haunted!" Ron's hands shot up to cover his eyes – which was, he instantly realized, a really bad idea, because it meant he was no longer holding onto the ladder. He teetered backward, on course for a perfect 20-foot nosedive into his back yard . . .

. . . when a black-sleeved arm reached through the entrance hatch, grabbed his collar, and hauled him up into the treehouse.

Once he'd registered that he was right-side up again and likely to stay that way, Ron carefully spread the fingers of his right hand and peeked through the gap. "Oh!" he said. "Yori! You're in my treehouse. As in, here. As in, not in Japan." He frowned. "Does this mean Sensei's missing again?"

Yori giggled. "No, no. Sensei is fine."

"Okay, then, Monkey Fist's up to something – taking another shot at the Lotus Blade?"

"No, he is still hiding from DNAmy and her gorillas."

"Fukushima's back? Master Lunch Lady wants my naco recipe?"

Yori's giggling erupted into outright laughter. "Oh, Ron-san, I have missed your American-style humor. All is well at Yamanuchi – but it is our summer break, just as it is yours."

"But if there's no mission," Ron said, his eyes starting to glaze over, "and school's out, then, um, how come you're in my treehouse? Not," he added quickly, "that I'm not happy to see you. And of course, my treehouse is your treehouse. Except it's here, and you live in Japan – you do still live in Japan, right? They haven't kicked you out of Yamanuchi or anything? Because if they have—" He paused, mostly for breath, but also to demonstrate his serious face.

Yori kissed him.

From a strictly physical viewpoint, it was only an average kiss – more than a peck, less than a full-on lip lock – but it was still well past innocent. She had pressed her lips to his, not merely brushed them against his cheek, making firm rather than tentative contact. And if the kiss hadn't quite tasted of intimacy, it had definitely been flavored with anticipation. Ron's eyes went wide and round, his vision unfocused, and his muscles found themselves caught halfway between total paralysis and utter relaxation. Rufus, who had barely avoided falling out of Ron's pocket earlier, squeaked once and scampered into a corner, curling up behind a small heap of forgotten socks.

After a moment, Yori broke the abrupt silence. "It is no more than I have said, and no less. All is well at Yamanuchi, but classes are not in session and so the students have scattered to the four winds. I have come here, where I hope I may enjoy the companionship of one I – very much admire." She stopped, not exactly breathless, and looked at Ron, her eyes more than usually bright. "You are a hero in Japan, you know."

"Hero? Me?" Ron blinked as he emerged from the dazed state. "They must have me confused with Kim."

"You are _both_ heroes, Ron-san," Yori said firmly. "Nakasumi-san has said so, and his words carry much weight. There were not many Diablos in Japan, but those that were there could have done much damage had you and Kim-san not stopped them."

Ron's expression was doubtful. "Kim was the one who really stopped the Diablos."

Yori's wasn't. "I am sure she could not have done so without you. You are a hero, Ron-san, whether you believe so or not."

"And you're here because . . . ."

"I am here because I like you very much, Ron-san," Yori said softly.

"Ohhh, man," Ron said, just as softly.

One of Yori's eyebrows rose slightly. "I am not yet fluent in your American-style slang," she said, "but that did not sound entirely joyful."

Ron gulped. "Ohhh, man," he said again. "The Ron-man is all about the liking. And the joy. But the Ron-man is also way confused. And it's – kinda complicated."

Yori took a deep breath. "Is it – Kim-san?"

"It kind of is," Ron admitted. "We – connected on prom night, right in the middle of the Diablo sitch. And it felt really, really good." Talking quickly, he unfolded that night's events.

"So you are—"

"That's just it, I don't know. Kim and I are really close now, and that's way cool. But -- what just happened, right here, felt good too. The liking, I mean, not just the kissing. And it's, well, awkweird."

"Oh, Ron-san," Yori said. The emotions in the treehouse were stretched tight enough for a musician to play like a guitar, but she still managed to sound amused. "This I have seen; it is like your American-style soap opera. Your heart is torn between Kim-san and myself, is it not so?"

Visions of _Agony County_ spun through Ron's brain. "You could say that, I guess – only without the cheating and the keeping secrets and the really expensive cars. Because the Ron-man will never, repeat never, go behind Kim's back."

"That would be a path of dishonor," Yori agreed at once, then fell briefly silent. "Still, while you are – how does the television say, examining your feelings – we may remain friends with one another, yes?"

"It would be my honor," Ron said, exhaling a relieved breath. "Friends who are hanging out during summer vacation, that would be us. So," he asked, "how long are you here? Where are you staying? Do I get to meet some of the ninja graduates this time?"

Yori smiled. "Our ninja graduates come to Yamanuchi's aid in matters of power and importance," she said. "Their favors are not to be used lightly. I am here as a Japanese tourist, that is all. And did you not say that your treehouse was my treehouse? It appears most comfortable."

Ron looked around, startled, at the treehouse's well-used third-generation furnishings. Then his mind flicked back to the quarters he'd been given during his visit to Yamanuchi, and he nodded. "Comfortable, right. Might get a little cool at night, though. And I should let my parents know, so they don't think you're a burglar or a hobo or something."

"You are very gracious, Ron-san." Yori started to lean forward as if to kiss him again, but abruptly caught herself and sighed. "It will be my honor to accept your hospitality – but I do not wish to be a burden."

"Not to worry," Ron said, then glanced at his watch. "Hey – it's almost lunchtime. Allow me to introduce you to the wonder that is Bueno Nacho."

"Ah, yes, your American-style Mexican-style fast food. It will be a new experience," Yori said cheerfully.

Ron frowned briefly. "Wait, don't they have three Bueno Nachos in Tokyo?"

"Indeed so, Ron-san," said Yori, "but the Diablos wrecked them all during the uprising two weeks ago, and it is not yet known when they will reopen."

"Oh, right. Lucky for us, the only thing we lost here was the sign. Come on, let's go." Ron headed for the exit hatch.

"One moment," Yori said. "I am not properly dressed to appear in public."

Ron turned, blinked, and said, "Huh? You're just fi– oh, gotcha. That'd be a little conspicuous." Though she wasn't wearing the hood, she was otherwise in full midnight-black ninja costume. "You did bring, like, normal clothes, right?"

Yori nodded, retreating behind a screen Ron didn't recall having been there before. "Some," she said. "Perhaps after lunch, you will help me choose more. I fear my American-style clothing may not be the most current fashion, and I do not wish to look out of place." She emerged again, wearing the blue top, short plaid skirt, and high black boots in which she'd turned up at Middleton High at the start of the Gorilla Fist adventure.

Ron gulped. "You look – fine," he said, knowing as the words left his mouth that it was a wild understatement. "It would be my honor to help you shop, but I'm not really, uh, up on the latest trends." _Heck, you'd look spectacular in a burlap potato sack_, he added to himself, managing with an effort of will not to utter the line out loud.

"I am sure you will guide me well, Ron-san," Yori said, stepping neatly past him to the top of the ladder leading down. "Now come, I am eager to sample this Bueno Nacho."

"Cheese!" Rufus put in, poking his head out of the nest of socks. He raced across the treehouse, leaping into Ron's pocket with a perfect one-and-a-half somersault.

"You got it, little guy," Ron told him, following Yori as they descended. "Just keep it neat today; we've got company. Got it?"

Rufus gave him an _of course I'll behave_ look – and a raspberry.

Yori eyed her naco warily. "It looks – untidy," she said, reaching for a tortilla chip from the paper basket Rufus wasn't sitting in.

"Not to worry, we have extra napkins, or there's sporks at the counter. But there is no honor," Ron added firmly, "in eating a naco with a spork."

"Ah," Yori said. "A challenge, then: one must consume the naco without marking one's clothing. It is a worthy test." She considered the entrée thoughtfully for several moments. Then she lifted her right hand slightly and flicked her index finger outward, causing a needle-thin five inch blade to spring from nowhere in particular, as if it had been hidden beneath her fingernail. Four lightning strokes slashed the naco into eight equal parts in something less than a second, another flick bisected a napkin (neatly wiping the blade in the process), and a subtle crook of Yori's finger caused the weapon to vanish as quickly as it had appeared. Calmly, she folded one of the segments into a fortune-cookie shape and popped it into her mouth.

"It is – good," she said once she'd finished chewing. "But I believe it needs some of your American-style Mexican-style seasoning."

Ron's eyes were spinning. "Whoa."

"Diablo!" said Rufus, handing Yori a packet of the liquid dynamite. She slit one corner with a fingernail, then carefully squirted the entire packet onto a second naco segment.

"Um, you might want to be careful with that," Ron told her. "It's pretty potent." Yori merely nodded, folded the segment as she had the first, and ate it in two quick bites.

Ron tensed, ready to spring for the self-serve soda machine. But Yori smiled and held out a hand to Rufus, who passed her another sauce packet. "Spirited," she said. "Master Lunch Lady's wasabi is more powerful, but this Diablo sauce has greater subtlety. Are you not going to eat your naco?" she added.

"Uh, sure," Ron said, shaking off his dazed state.

He considered the naco for a moment; clearly, his usual all-at-once scarfing tactic was ill-advised in this situation. Then he carefully slid one hand underneath the wrapper and lifted it to mouth-height, leaned slightly forward, and began nibbling at the naco's edge as he deftly turned the wrapper using his free hand. In short order, he'd spiraled his way inward and polished off his meal, whereupon he crumpled the paper wrapper, blotted his lips with a napkin, and grinned across the booth at Yori. "Honor is satisfied. And so is my tummy."

"Indeed," she replied. "Then let us go shopping."

The naco suddenly felt heavy in Ron's stomach, but he took a deep breath and stood up. "Shopping it is," he said.


	2. Isn't This Kind Of A Long Commute?

_My thanks to those who've reviewed the opening chapter to date -- King in Yellow, Limby, mkusenagi2, and Yankee Bard -- and also to those of you who've bookmarked the story. Chapter 3 may be a little longer in coming; I may see about updating _Monkey Chi, Monkey Du_ first, as that's been hanging fire for an awfully long time now. However, I have every hope of keeping up with this one at a somewhat reasonable pace._

_I also encourage anyone who hasn't yet done so to hop over and check out the "Guess the Author 4" stories under the GWA account -- -- one of the eleven disturbingly warped entries is mine, and a number of the other ten are arguably even funnier and stranger._

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2 • Isn't This Kind Of A Long Commute?**

Shopping, of course, meant a visit to the Middleton Mall. Ron had suggested Smarty Mart, but Yori shook her head. "We have Smarty Marts in Japan, and I do not believe we will find what I seek there."

So Ron wheeled out his newly rocket-powered scooter; he had gotten the hang of controlling it by now, and it felt disturbingly comfortable to have Yori riding behind him. Like Kim, she held on relatively lightly – as much for balance as anything else – but her grip was just a touch tighter, and he was hyper-conscious of the way her arms were wrapped like a seat belt around his waist. The trip took barely more than ten minutes, and as he located a parking space near the mall's south entrance, Ron found himself wishing it had lasted a little longer.

"Are you sure your vehicle will be safe?" Yori asked as they dismounted.

Ron shrugged, reached under the instrument panel, and pushed a button. "Kim's brothers rigged a security system when they added the rockets," he told her. "I don't have a clue how it works, but only Kim and I can disarm it, and while it's on the scooter's too heavy to move."

One of Yori's eyebrows went up, and she reached out, took hold of one handlebar, and tugged – to absolutely no effect. A few more moments' experimentation demonstrated that no amount of effort exerted from any angle could nudge the scooter so much as a millimeter, and she gave up with a bemused smile.

"Most impressive. Very well, let us begin."

They started in New Marine. Yori frowned thoughtfully over several styles of jeans without trying any on, then shifted her attention to skirts, shorts, and tops, gathering up a substantial armful of garments and retreating to one of the fitting rooms. She emerged in a series of different combinations, soliciting Ron's opinions on each:

A pale gray miniskirt and forest-green puff-sleeved shirt: "Do you think these colors work well together?"

"Um, the green's good – the gray, not so much."

The same shirt, navy corduroy shorts: "Is this better, and do you think these are the right size? They are . . . snug."

"Color's great. Maybe have Rufus check out the pockets?"

"Oof! No room!" The mole rat made a thumbs-down sign, and a bemused salesclerk hurried off, returning with a different pair of shorts.

"Comfy!"

"Indeed, Rufus-san."

A knee-length smoke-colored skirt and a pleated knit scoop-necked shirt: "What about these?"

"That's a way cooler gray, but the strawberry is just wrong. Maybe purple – darker, but not too dark."

Even after Yori had eliminated more than half her initial selections, those that remained filled two large bags and part of a smaller one. She paid for the clothing with a gleaming black credit card, and Ron followed her out of the store carrying the spoils. "That went well," he said. "Are we finished?"

Yori giggled. "Oh, no," she said. "We must investigate more carefully." Ron restrained a sigh, and followed her deeper into the mall.

At the Wedge, Yori pounced eagerly on the selection – and retreated almost as rapidly when she noted the price tags. "I do not think I can afford to be this popular."

She spent a little longer in Imperial Mango, but pronounced their fashions too conservative for her liking. "Blending in is often useful, but there is a difference between appearing inconspicuous and appearing dull."

Ron gulped a little as they went into Flaming Gossip. He and Kim had passed the store any number of times, but they'd never been inside; and he had noticed over the years that the boutique's clientele tended toward those with tattoos, Technicolor hair, and pierced body parts.

Yori, by contrast, appeared fascinated – though she passed quickly over the logo-festooned T-shirts and most of the more risqué outfits. "One's clothing need not be so unsubtle an advertisement."

"Right with you," Ron said. "I eat at Bueno Nacho, but I do not wear Bueno Nacho. At least not intentionally," he added.

"That is most wise," replied Yori, giggling again. "However," she added in a more serious tone, running her fingers over a gauzy purple-mesh tunic, "the power of suggestion should not be underestimated." She reached deftly backward and collected a plain black tank top from a nearby table, draped the tunic over her arm, and went in search of the dressing rooms.

When she came out, Ron took one look, blinked, and tried not to goggle. The tank was decidedly form-fitting, the tunic was essentially transparent, and the combination . . . the combination, Ron decided, was the visual equivalent of concentrated Diablo sauce. He mentally ransacked his vocabulary for a suitable description, discarded several phrases (_sultry, smoking, volcanic_) as potentially dangerous, and finally settled breathlessly on, "That just – rocks."

"Good," Yori said simply. The outfit, along with a spaghetti-strapped top in a jagged crimson and black zebra pattern, went into another shopping bag, and they moved on.

To Ron's relief (mostly), they passed by Queen Anne's Lace without going in; he wasn't sure he was ready to deal with anything more exotic than the scantily clad mannequins in the store's window displays. Instead, Yori headed for Five East and its comprehensive assortment of shoes. Ron promptly settled into a chair while she spent a good twenty minutes studying the boots, pumps, sandals, flats, and other styles without picking anything up. When she finally turned over an ankle-high spike-heeled boot to check the price – $220 – she let out a sharp breath, but nodded as if to herself before setting it down again. "Expensive," she said, "but not without reason." She turned toward the store entrance, but just as Ron began gathering up the bags she spotted a shelf marked "Clearance" and zeroed in. Fifteen minutes later, she had added a huge bag with two shoeboxes in it to Ron's collection – one pair of navy blue walking shoes, the other little more than several narrow strands of black leather crisscrossed over silvery soles to which three-inch stiletto heels had been attached.

"Anything else?" Ron inquired, doing his best not to sound impatient, as he followed Yori back out into the mall.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, then paused to study a store directory display. "We must of course visit Club Banana," she said. "And – let me see. Does not Atlantic Moon offer American-style swimming suits? It would be good to acquire one while I am here."

Ron's brain, however, had registered the words _swimming suits_ and stalled, as an image of Yori in a bikini backflipped across his imagination. As a result, he didn't immediately notice as another figure stopped near the directory kiosk.

"Yori? Is that—? "

"Kim Possible-san! Once again we meet, yes."

"So what's the sitch?" Kim asked, reaching into her bag for the Kimmunicator. "Monkey Fist making more trouble? I'll call–"

Yori held up a hand. "That will not be necessary. I am—"

But Kim's glance had finally taken in the unwieldy stack of bags and the sneakered feet protruding from beneath the hoard. "Ron, is that you?"

Kim's voice snapped Ron out of his brain-crash. "Right here, KP," he said, rearranging his load so he could see over the Five East bag.

Her eyes flicked between his unwieldy assortment of sacks and Yori in her cheerfully colorful schoolgirl's outfit. "You've been—"

"Shopping!" Yori said brightly. "Stoppable-san has been very helpful. It has been his honor—"

"—to carry the bags," Kim finished. "But if there isn't a mission-type sitch, isn't this kind of a long commute for a mall crawl?" She was still, Ron noted, holding her Kimmunicator, and there was a skeptical glint in her eyes.

Yori merely smiled. "As I was saying, it is my summer vacation – and being in America, I wish to better follow American fashion."

"I see," said Kim. "Only please tell me you haven't been relying on Stoppable-san here for fashion advice."

The slam to his fashion sense didn't faze Ron – he could tell Kim was at best half-serious – but there was a note in her voice that sounded faintly ominous. "Um, guys," he said, "if we're doing the catching-up thing, can we maybe do it in the food court over pretzels? If we stand here much longer it will be my honor to fall over."

"An excellent plan," said Yori as Kim led the trio back the way she'd come, toward the north end of the mall. Not quite ten minutes later, they were facing each other across a round table in the far corner of the food court's atrium. Yori's purchases were stacked more or less neatly between the table and the wall, and a smaller Club Banana bag was hooked over the back of Kim's chair. They had also very nearly bought out the Pretzel Palace's hot-case. Kim had chosen only a single plain pretzel, but Yori had ordered three (one salted, one with cinnamon sugar, one with cheese), as had Ron (one salted, two with cheese, though one of those was for Rufus).

Kim sipped absently at her iced tea. "So," she said, "you came all the way over here just for vacation?"

"Indeed," Yori replied. "How better to refresh the spirit than in the company of one's friends?"

"That's what I said," Ron put in. "More or less, anyway. And nothing says friendship like lunch at Bueno Nacho. And shopping."

"And shopping," Kim echoed, eyeing the heap of bags Yori and Ron had accumulated. "I'd have been glad to help out, if only one of you had called. There's a sale at Hint! – they had some rocking jeans." She lightly tapped the cellphone holster clipped to her belt, cocking an eyebrow at Ron.

Ron shrugged and took a bite of pretzel. "The only phone in the treehouse is the tin-can model I built when we were seven, and it's kinda hard to dial out on that one. And the Ron-man is not yet cellular-enabled."

Yori giggled briefly. "I am, as Ron-san has said, cellular-enabled – but regrettably, Kim-san, I did not know that you were. Nor would I presume to ask such a purely personal favor through your Web site. I am sure Wade-san has much more important work to do." Her mild tone was a perfect match for Kim's, but even Ron could sense the unspoken challenges ping-ponging back and forth across the table.

"It's no big; I just got the phone last week; here's the number." Kim dug a pen from her pocket, scribbled on a napkin, and pushed it across the table. Then she added, just a little too cheerfully for Ron's comfort, "So, how long are you staying? And did your parents come, too?"

The Japanese girl was silent for a moment, her expression unreadable. "I must return to Japan in three weeks. As for the other," she said, her voice growing very soft, "I am a daughter of the Yamanuchi school. My mother studied there before me, but she did not long survive my birth. My father . . . never came forward."

Both Kim and Ron sat stunned into silence by the revelation; for nearly a full minute, the only sound at the table came from Rufus, who munched busily on his cheese-topped pretzel. Finally, Ron reached out and took Yori's hand in his, though he still didn't speak.

"I – had no idea," said Kim, the unspoken edge entirely gone from her voice and posture. "I'm . . . ."

"Do not be upset, Kim-san," Yori said at once. "I am not, after all, alone in the world. Yamanuchi has many resources, and Sensei has been as a grandfather to me." She met Kim's gaze steadily, but Ron felt her grip on his hand tighten as she spoke.

Kim opened her mouth to respond—

—only to be interrupted from an entirely different quarter.

_Beep-beep-be-beep!_ The Kimmunicator warbled, and in an instant Kim had scooped up the device. "Wade? I hope this is important."

"Very," came the reply. "Listen to this."

Wade hit a short key-sequence, and a video popped onto the Kimmunicator screen. "Greetings, Kim Possible," said Senor Senior Sr. cordially. "I trust you are well. I wish to inform you that my son and I will be taking possession of a certain large shipment leaving Kilchberg, Switzerland in the very near future. You, of course, will seek to prevent me from doing so, whereupon I will make every effort to see that you fail. It is, how do you say, time that I raise the bar in such matters? Until then, my dear Miss Possible – _adios_!"

"Switzerland?" Kim said. "Okay, Wade, what are they after?"

The boy genius's expression was grim. "Only about two metric tons of the world's finest Swiss chocolate," he said. "It's going out from the plant by rail just under eighteen hours from now, and it's earmarked for the Vatican."

Ron gasped. "Hijacking a trainload of chocolate? That's just wrong."

Kim's reaction was more practical. "Eighteen hours? That doesn't give us a lot of lead time. What's the ride sitch look like?"

"Hour and a half, your back yard," Wade said. "Dermot's the closest who can go trans-Atlantic, but he's coming in from Texas."

"We're on it," Kim said, her attention fully on the mission. "Come on, Ron."

"One moment," Yori said, as all three of them stood up. "If I may, it would be my honor to assist. You have both served Yamanuchi well in the past; I hope you will allow me to return the favor."

Kim looked doubtful, but Ron pumped a fist in the air. "Boo-yah!" he said. "Senior Senior won't be expecting the badical ninja moves – and with that much chocolate at stake, we can't be too careful!"

"We-ell," Kim said, frowning a little, "extra backup can't hurt. Besides," she added, waving a hand at Yori's hoard, "I don't think all that stuff is going to fit on Ron's scooter."

"That is true," Yori admitted ruefully. "We have been – busy."

Kim chuckled. "I've got Mom's car; I can run you back to . . . did you say the treehouse?" The chuckle faded into surprise.

"For the present," Yori told her, nodding. "Let us proceed. We have little time to waste."

"On it!" Ron said. "Come on, Rufus!"

But he stood watching for a moment as the two girls – Yori now carrying most of her own bags – headed out of the food court and down the mall. "I don't know, buddy," he said as the mole rat dived into his pants pocket. "Something tells me this mission's going to be hairier than usual."


End file.
